


Office Christmas Party

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Series: Not The Way I Love You [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I take it Ianto was in on this whole devious plot to impersonate me and take over Torchwood from within?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Crossdressing' in [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Not my characters, not making any money from this

  
Christmas at Torchwood. In Jack's experience, a complete non-event, but this year, Gwen said they had to do something.

'Look, Christmas is when stuff happens,' Jack insisted. Owen backed him up.

'Yeah. We've had giant stars that shoot people, we've had the blood-group stuff with the Sycorax - Christmas is always shit, we're always working.'

'But we could have a party,' said Gwen. 'Office Christmas parties are always great.'

Typical of her optimism. Owen's experiences of these parties were mostly of drunk doctors singing dirty and medically accurate songs, and Jack has never been to an office Christmas party in his life.

(Doesn't need to. Jack can sleep with colleagues without needing any sort of religious festival as an excuse).

But in the end, she got her way. Ianto, poker-faced, came in the next day - the 20th - with a bag of glittery decorations.

'What's the dress code for this, anyway?' he asked the team, unloading the bag. Buried at the bottom was a bar of Green and Blacks, cocoa-heavy and luxurious. He caught their eyes. 'It's for Myfanwy,' he said, defensively.

'Oooh, fancy dress!' said Gwen, excitedly. 'Let's do fancy dress.'

'Jack won't need to dress up,' said Owen, appearing briefly from the medical bay, and then ducking back as Jack shouted 'Hey!' and threw a bunch of tinsel at him.

'I like the fancy dress plan,' said Tosh.

'Tosh, I've got an idea,' Gwen hissed, as Jack headed purposefully for his office. 'Ianto. Going to need some help on this one...'

* * *

Christmas Eve. Rift predictions: 18.9 percent likelihood of activity. Streamers hung on the desks. Owen was sitting on the sofa, disconsolately eating crisps. Ianto had quietly cleared the table of pizza boxes and miscellaneous junk and put out party food while waiting for the girls to get back.

Owen had refused to dress up, and was wearing what he'd worn all day. Ianto's concession to the party was a tie with small reindeer on it, worn with such utter seriousness that not even Jack had commented. He was trying to cram all the bottles of booze into the fridge.

The door alarm sounded, and the door rolled back. Gwen and Tosh entered.

'Fuck. Me.' said Owen.

Gwen had come as Jack. Trousers with a crease, big boots, belt and braces (belt carrying an empty gun-holster) and a dark blue shirt, topped off with a spare overcoat. (Of course he has more than one. There are three, which Ianto conscientiously rotates).

Tosh looks equally sweet as Owen. Narrow men's glasses, medical scrubs, and what - thinks Jack - what _has_ she done with her breasts?

Both have their hair tied back and pinned up. The resemblence isn't great, but it gets them a roar of laughter from Jack, and a delighted grin from Ianto, who - of course - was in on the whole thing.

Owen looked all set to start bitching about his spare scrubs or tell them both they looked stupid, so Jack exercised the privilege of being the leader and swept over to them.

'You two look _amazing_ ,' he said, throwing an arm round each of them and pulling them into a hug which was cosy and not at all sexual. 'Tosh, the medic look suits you.'

Owen and Tosh have a moment of not looking at each other. The cover-up on the Day Of The Space Pig is something Jack was never told about, so he has no idea quite how convincing Tosh is in a white coat.

'And you,' he continued, managing without apparent effort to end up on the sofa with an arm round each of them, 'Gwen, sweetheart - wow.'

His hand is warm and solid on her shoulder, and she can't help noticing it in an odd way. He's Jack - he gets into everyone's personal space, he's physically affectionate with all of them and never even seems to think about it except if you ask him to stop. So why would she notice this one occasion?

Maybe it's the heaviness of the coat. It's solid and thick and it's making her hot. She can't imagine how he can run in the damn thing, lt alone wear it all year round. Also, it brushes her sensually in places she never thought of as erogenous - the smooth skin under her arms, the folds of her elbows, the backs of her calves.

'Beer,' she says, leaning out of the embrace and getting up. 'Tosh?'

'Yeah, go on then.' said Tosh. The initial effect worn off, she looks shy, sitting composed and small on the sofa.

* * *

Gwen is a little hazy-drunk by the time Tosh calls it a night and goes home. Ianto joins her on the agreement of sharing a cab - no way is he driving tonight. Owen is methodically eating all the crisps, and had been arguing with Gwen about music til she got up and wandered away, needing to pee.

The stage of drunk where things are just oddly hilarious had struck her, so it's without really thinking about it that she stomps over to the Gents' and kicks the door open, giggling a bit to herself as it crashes back.

It didn't occur to her to expect to find Jack standing at the sink, sweeping his hair carefully into its usual apparently-random shape in front of the mirror. He turned, and before she can apologise, grinned at her.

'Any other day, I'd tell you you're in the wrong place,' he said.

'Oh shit, sorry, I'm - '

'Hey,' and he's quite close to her, 'not a problem, sir. You look really good. Come tell me how you did it?' and he's ghosted a kiss onto her forehead and left.

She had a pee, staring hard at the back of the cubicle door in deep confusion.

When she went back, Owen was just off, the door alarm was going and a shouted 'N'night Gwen - happy Christmas,' sounded as he left.

Jack wasn't in the main space, so she flopped down on the sofa again, identified her beer among the debris of empty bottles, and drank some more of it.

He returned after a minute with a tray.

'Cheese toastie, and I made some coffee,' he said. 'You look like you could use something to eat.'

'Oh, you are a _lifesaver_ Jack Harkness,' she said, her eyes widening. She was at exactly that stage of drunk where you start to crave kebabs, and a cheese toastie was a very good second choice.

'So tell me everything,' he said, as she began to eat the sandwich eagerly, 'I take it Ianto was in on this whole devious plot to impersonate me and take over Torchwood from within?'

'Yep,' she agreed, mouth full. 'He got me the coat and the holster. The shirt is Rhys', I got the trousers in a charity shop, and the belt. The braces are Ianto's, I think.'

'No-o,' said Jack, looking more closely - by this point Gwen has thankfully abandoned the coat, and rolled up her shirt sleeves, the contrast of the rich blue material with her smooth pale arms oddly pleasing to the eye. 'Those are mine - musta left them at his place some time.'

Gwen gave him a sidelong look.

'Didn't realise you two were that serious,' she said.

Jack shrugged, changed the subject.

'Can I ask - what have you done with your breasts?'

'Sports bra and surgical bandages,' she said, taking a last bite of toastie. 'Tosh helped. Then we compared.'

'Did you take pictures?' he asked, reflexively. He's righter than he supposes that the two women found it odd, giggly and a little exciting, getting ready together at Tosh's place, inexpertly strapping down their breasts with Ianto waiting patiently in the sitting room.

'Jack!' She punched his thigh, mock indignant.

'And the - ?' he flicked an eyebrow, glancing at the bump in her crotch. 'How did you do that?'

'Knotted sock,' she said.

'Slightly exaggerated,' he observed. She squinted from her groin to his, then back. Sobering up rapidly, she's still relaxed enough not to have a problem with this.

'No, really?'

'Well, not _now_ ,' he said, and there's flirtation in his voice, 'I'm sitting right next to a cute guy, it's not a fair comparison.'

'Oh,' flirting right back at him, because this is Jack, flirting is how he communicates, and anyway it's fun. 'Am I magnetising you with my charisma and sexual charm?' Somehow, what was meant to be a realistic imitation of him comes out in a Valley Girl whine.

'Please never try to do that accent again,' he protested.

'Oh, well you'll have to find something else for me to do with my mouth then,' she pouted at him.

'Woah, that's scary,' he laughed, leaning back, not sure whether to be worried or turned on. 'Do I really come across that obvious?'

'All the time,' and she's leaning closer to him, the conversation is still light but the body language isn't, something about the closeness of him and the lateness of the night and the relaxation of the party had got her into the right frame of mind. The coffee and food has sobered her up enough to be rational, but her head still seems to be spinning, she's pleasantly sensually aware all over...

He leaned in near to her, meaning, surely, just to kiss her on the forehead again, he's done that often enough, it's not a sexual thing -

But she's angled and found his lips and then her hands are gripping him, one on the back of his neck, the other on his upper arm, pulling him in.

It's a long kiss, fast and deep and expressive, the physical acknowledgement of something they had both been wanting for a long time.

'Oh god,' muttered Jack, when they broke apart. Breathless desire and regret mingled in his tone. 'That's - '

'Wow,' said Gwen. She's staring up at him, her eyes big and serious.

He was going to take her hands and tell her calmly why this was a bad idea, that he cared about her too much, that it wouldn't happen again. He was prepared to do the 21st century dance that he hates and can't comprehend, if it would help to avoid complicating her life.

But she leaned in again, fiercely so she pushed him back on the sofa, kissing him like someone who's coming up for air for the first time.

'Gwen,' he struggled a little in her grip. 'Gwen!'

'What?' she demanded. Her hands are straying over him, pulling him close to her, hungry, desperate.

'Are you sure about this?'

'I am _completely fucking certain_ ,' she said, and the low burn in her voice is the one he recognises as a danger signal. Gwen can make him listen like no one else on the team, and usually it's by doing that voice.

He was going to say something, but she pinned him again, and now he's sure it's OK he lets himself fall back easily into an erotic mindset, where - _ohmyfuckinggod_ \- he's being jumped by a cross-dressed girl who is wearing his clothes, and she's fierce and determined and he's turned on and surprised and possibly a little in love -

Gwen had got astride him, a surge of arousal driving her to get as close as she can, to physically meld with this man who has changed her life and saved her life and loved her, and made her ache for him every time he touched her for months and months. A small, rational part of her mind that isn't deliciously involved in kissing Jack is saying that shagging the boss at the Christmas Party is almost normal. But the vast majority is entangled in the brush of his clothes on her skin where he touches her, the taste of his lips, overlaid and enhanced by the flavour of good Scotch, the feel of his hands on her back...

She began, fumblingly rapid, to unbutton his shirt, then gave up and just wrenched it over his head, taking his T-shirt with it. Bare-chested, his hair mussed, he looks amazing in the multicoloured lights that are still burning in the Hub, and she moved in close, dipping down to kiss his nipples and lick at them, tasting his sweat, and surely there's no reason at all he should taste that good?

Jack is feeling a strange sense of _deja vu_ as he mirrors her, unbuttons the shirt she's wearing, melting at the contrast of the blue material with her flushed skin, and the subdued bump of her bound breasts. Bandages over a sports bra should not be that erotic, but his fingers are drawn to find out the curves, the tautness of her chest under the material. Her nipples are pushed off to the sides and up, approximately where they'd be if these really were pecs...

Gwen gasped when he found her nipple and rolled it firmly between finger and thumb. The binding of her breasts felt oddly comfortable - tight and constricting, but no different to the time she'd worn a corset to be a bridesmaid. The sensation of freedom that went with having no perceptible breasts - nothing to move or get in the way when she turned suddenly or ran - had been thrilling her all evening, an odd sense of liberation.

In the same way, the trouser-bulge - which she knows very well is only a knotted rugby sock - has been altering the way she moves all evening, allowing her to throw her knees apart a bit when she sat, to push her hips forward a bit and stride more as she walked. Now it seems - Jack's other hand is sneaking towards it - to be the focus of something, some stray sensations that don't match up to what she knows her body to be. In this fantasy - where she is both Gwen and Jack, both female and male - there is another set of sensations, centred on her notional cock, and she's reacting to them, grinding forward against him, almost able to feel a male body mapped on to her own.

While she's got her fingers interlaced with his short hair, pulling his head back so she can kiss his neck, he's circling her thighs with his fingers, feeling her arcing her hips forward slightly to meet him.

He reached up and gently unclasped her fingers, his other hand on her bum, drawing her so she's kneeling up. He doesn't say anything - he has a knack for moving without speaking, a physical fluency in making their bodies meet and connect. His eyes on hers, he slides down the sofa til his face is level with her lap, and then, without looking away, leans forward and up and pressed his mouth against her trouser bulge.

It doesn't feel like a cock to him, not remotely, but he's pretending for her that it does, spinning out the fantasy, kissing and pressing against her. Through the layers of material between them, he uses not just his mouth but his chin and cheeks and his nose to push against her whole lap, applying pressure, burying his face in her in ways that make her tilt her head up and moan. He can smell her arousal, rich and salt and hot.

Gwen glanced down at him, his face eager and harsh and exposed, and did what she'd seen in the films - put a hand to the back of his head and pushed him closer, exhaling with a small moan, wanting more contact, more pressure. He's rubbing her mound and her lips and it's too general and unfocussed, she's trying to get him to the right place -

And he glances up at her, his eyes blazing and hard for a split second, and then she see's that he's so turned on he looks scary, and then - then he's grinning like - well, like it was Christmas.

'Oooh, you're _demanding_ ,' he said, his voice rich with pleasure. 'Whatcha gonna do now, handsome? Since you seem to be calling the shots?'

She knows exactly where she wants this to go.

'Oh, hell - just fuck me,' she said, her voice low and desperate, her fingers twisting into his hair.

'Hold that thought,' he ordered, scrambling off the sofa and fetching the coat from where it had been slung over an office chair. He fished in the inside pocket, made a noise of triumph.

'A-ha!'

A small box containing two condoms.

'You OK with latex?' he asked, taking one out, glancing at the date.

'Er, yeah,' she said, thinking _he does boys, I'd **insist** on latex if he wasn't one step ahead_.

''Cause I have non-latex ones around somewhere...'

Gwen refused to be sidetracked by crossed purposes.

'It's fine, just - hurry it up, will you?' The moment slightly broken, she's anxious to get him back to touching her before she changes her mind, loses her nerve, remembers about being engaged.

She unhooked the braces from her shoulders, stripped off the trousers and thrown all three of her socks to the floor, but she's still got the shirt on, unbuttoned to show her binding. And -

He raised one eyebrow at her.

'Girl-boxers?'

'I thought they fitted the outfit, all right?' she said.

'Oh, they're all right with me,' he said, fervently, and sank down on the sofa next to her, pulled her astride his lap, and reached down to touch her, finding her so slick and wet through the shorts that he was unable to keep from shifting his hips to push up against her.

She put a hand between them to grope him, hard and thick under his trousers, and made him gasp and push again. She'd love to touch him for longer but she is intensely turned on, her cunt aching for sensation, and she wrenches his belt undone and unfastens his flies rapidly, ready for more.

Her fingers on bare, smooth skin make him exhale harshly, mutter her name, thrust up against her hand. For the first time, she sees him almost undone with excitement, and he looks different - younger, freer, the worries of leadership faded off him.

'I want - ' his teeth gritted, she's not gripping him too hard, just slow up-and-down strokes, feeling his hardness, the dampness at the tip. 'Gwen, _please_...'

She gave one more stroke, leaned over to find his mouth and kiss him again, breathing against his lips, 'Yes, Jack, yes, come on, fuck me,' and he put the condom on rapidly with one hand - _oh that is just showing off_ \- while the other was circling her damp cunt through the boxers, and then he'd pushed the material aside and pulled her close, and let her rock down onto him and take him inside her.

His hands clenched on the blue material of her shirt as she began to rock, sinking and rising, finding her rhythm. The rough cloth of his trousers is grazing against her inner thighs, and she can feel his belt-buckle against her bum, warmed by contact. She is moving quicker, eyes shut, her entire body focussed on the feelings inside her as she fucked him, feeling him fill her, drawing him in.

Jack's hands are tracing over her, across her back, up to her neck, along the line of her bare thigh, and then he laid on hand on her leg and traced her clit once with the tip of his thumb, making her swear.

'Shit! Oh, oh do that again,' she ordered, and he managed half a grin, breathless as he was.

'Yes, _sir_!' He slid his thumb between her lips, working with her as she moved, flicking her clit, soft and then hard, circling and tracing til he found a move than made her bite her lip and moan. She tilted her head down to kiss him again, started to bite at his lips, writhing and thrusting on top of him, quicker and quicker -

'You close?' he managed, his own sensations threatening to carry him over the edge - feeling her on top, taking control, assertive, boyish, hungry -

'Oh god yes,' she moaned, her voice gone ragged. He redoubled his speed on her clit and she threw back her head and yelled, coming hard around him and riding out her peak, taking him with her a split second after so he jolted and thrust hard and fast inside her, crying her name, losing himself completely.

Afterwards, he groaned, tilted his head back to rest on the wall, and smiled up at her - a lazy, drained, sated smile.

' _Man_ that was good,' he said, he put a hand up, stroked a stray wisp of her fringe back off her face. 'For you?

'Oh, yeah.' She scrambled off him, rolled down hopelessly on the sofa with her legs across his lap, and then pulled him down to hug her.

Once they had recovered their breath, she said, 'Jack', sounding preoccupied.

'Uh huh?'

'We're going to have to delete the CCTV.'

'Good idea,' he said fervently. Not that anyone ever checked the footage, but the law of idiotic happenings that go with a job in Torchwood meant that someone would definitely check it tomorrow or Boxing day if they didn't delete it.

'And this - ' she looked at him hard, 'this stays between us, all right? None of your random show-off comments in front of the others. I mean, it's a one-off, all right? I think there was a lot of tension between us, and now that's, you know - ' she's not looking at him - 'we can just get on with our jobs, all right?'

'Yep, sure.' He is completely unconvinced that she'll stick to that, but it won't be for want of him keeping his distance. He doesn't especially want to reduce the number of people in his team with funciional relationships, and much as he is a sexual show-off he makes a point of not fucking with established couples if he can help it (unless they both want him to, obviously). 'Whatever you say, sweetheart.'

 _This is **so** not happening again_ , she thought. _He's much too confident and sarky and, god, what a show-off. And anyway, Ianto. And Rhys. I have so many good reasons never to do that again._

'Damn right,' she said. She ought to get up, she knows she should shower and change and get home, but a small corner of her wants to stay here, wrapped up in Jack's arms, and fall asleep.

He can feel that, feel her beginning to drift, and he nudged her.

'Come on sweetheart. I'll drive you home.'

END  



End file.
